


Death?  No, Taxes

by ladyoneill



Series: Lady O'Neill's Fandom Stocking Fills [14]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Curtain Fic, Domestic, M/M, Taxes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sheriff is doing his taxes when his lover comes home and, in his own way, helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death?  No, Taxes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2012 Fandom Stocking for celli.

The opening of the back door sent receipts blowing across the kitchen table and onto the floor and John yelled and tried to grab them.

"Dammit!"

"Sorry. I'd say a hurricane was coming if we weren't two hundred miles inland." Bending down, Chris picked up several of the small pieces of paper, glancing at the top one from the local Super Target. "Jesus, you spent how much on food for September?"

"That was for one week in September." John took the receipts and glared at them, before picking up his glass and sipping his whisky.

"Bit early for that." It wasn't really a scold, just mild concern, and John narrowed his eyes at his...boyfriend? Lover? Significant other? It was still so new, he had no clue.

Chris smoothed out a couple crumpled receipts and sat down next to him, shrugging out of his jacket as he did so, revealing his gun in its shoulder harness.

"Do you write off wolfsbane bullets on your taxes?"

"I write off bullets for business purposes. Unfortunately I haven't figured out how to claim wolfsbane as a deduction."

"There has to be a way to write off the costs of feeding the pack. It's bad enough they're teenagers who already eat like damn pigs, but most of them are werewolves on top of it." Sighing, John ran his hands over his face and pulled on his hair in exasperation. "I'm going to need a second job!"

"You know, Hale is loaded. Make him pay you back."

John stared at him. "What?"

Chris gave him a confused look. "You didn't know? I mean, the family's been here for two centuries, they practically built the town on gold, and then they parked themselves in the woods and just let the interest accrue on investments. Plus I know they had life insurance on the adults and the house."

"Well, shit. I figured the car was his sister's and he owns like two shirts and hasn't made a move to fix one thing in that wreck of a house."

"That's because he's an eternal martyr. He's got money."

"STILES!"

Chris grinned and, while John had his back turned waiting for his son to clatter down the stairs, he put the lid back on the whisky bottle.

End


End file.
